Promises
by Don Juan's Red Death
Summary: With that gold ring came a promise... and promises must be kept. Leroux:EC incomplete. CHAPTERS SIX AND SEVEN RE-WRITTEN
1. Worries

**Promises**

**A Phantom of the Opera story**

**By Don Juan's Red Death**

_**Chapter one**_

**- - - -**

Raoul burst into the apartment of Madame Valèrious in an alarming and somewhat shocking state of mind. Banging open the door without the courtesy to knock and looking around the small sitting room like a madman. Eyes turning this way and that, head flying in every which direction, turning in angles that to you and I may seem quite painful. The good nurse who, at this time had been half finished bathing her ailing mistress did what any sensible person might do in this situation; ran to the young man and covered his eyes with a quick slap. She then called for the other nurse who brought with her a rather large bath towel and draped it over the elderly woman's body like a blanket.

Once it was safe to do so, the nurse removed her hand from Raoul's eyes, while the second chattered angrily at him for his lack of manners, called him a 'cheeky fellow' and slapped his face. Madame Valèrious however thought this all in great fun and was enjoying a good laugh while her dressing aid helped her into a fluffy bathrobe; a salmon shade of pink and tied her belt. When she stood up, and obtained her polished oak cane form the holder on her left, and caught her balance she moved across the room. Upon a well-calculated misplacement of her right foot she stumbled and Raoul caught her shoulders to steady her against his chest.

She caught his arms and pulled him to her laughing gaily as she kissed both his cheeks while her maids were standing behind her each one a different expression plastered on her face. One was even tapping her forehead with her forefinger, as if to convey that she thought the woman had finally lost all sense and gone quite mad. The next was shaking her head in fond disapproval as if to show that this was nothing but typical of her mistress while the third was gawking in profound disbelief: as though the concept of her lady welcoming this man after so rude an entrance was just simply too much for her to handle.

Meanwhile: the young man was cradling her like a child as he laid her back on the bed. She touched his face, coughed a few times and then let her head rest on the cushions. "Madame . . . " came his voice after some minutes of silence, the old woman gave a sleepy moan that resembled 'hmm?' and fought to keep her eyes open.

At first, Raoul was so piteous of the poor lady that he had to find his voice in order to say what was on his mind.

When she had perked up enough to listen, he swallowed hard and closed his eyes taking a deep breath. "Madame, I have come to ask of the whereabouts of Christine." He said and the old woman laughed gently patting his hand as if it were flour for the morning bread, and told him in a fond and almost dreamy tone of voice that of course he would be looking for her, because he was in love with her and that's what two people who are in love do. They look for each other.

Raoul remained throughout her soft lecturing on the matters of romance and young love, his handsome blue eyes swiveling in every which direction as to avoid the eyes of the speaker. When she had finished; she was on the edge of dozing and had a reflective glint in her brown eyes, now half open and glazed with sleepiness. He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently, causing her weary features to brighten once more and asked him what he wanted.

Again the young man repeated his earlier statement and once again the poor woman resumed her repetitive and somewhat irritating stories of love with her late husband. Raoul listened with an air of impatience, beginning to feel that this whole thing was all quite pointless. "In one summer we . . . "

At this point he could bare it no longer and burst out, "Madame's I worry for Christine." The young lord said rather too pointedly for the third time since his arrival. The madame however chuckled lightly and told he that she was with her good genius. When Raoul asked of her as to if she knew who this genius might be she smiled and told him that he already knew. At first he was puzzled and it took him quite a few moments before he could discern what she meant. He sighed rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. This was going to take a while him just knew it.

Listening until he could bear to no longer he soon became as numb and muddle-headed as a careless child who was in the middle of one of his or her parents boring incompressible speeches. He had half a mind to just get up and leave, but not wanting to be rude he simply sat there in her foyer and gave an occasional nod or half-hearted chuckle meant to appease the old woman in her talkative mood. She seemed to be happy with this and kept up her talking until her eyes drooped with sleepiness and he did not have the heart nor the will to wake her.

He left the apartment feeling very weary, his head throbbed and he was dizzy from the aftereffects of the several shots of brandy and liquor that he had drained before his visit. Deciding he needed a breath of fresh air he went to the park sat down on a bench and closed his eyes. Where could she have gone? Why did she fly from his arms and more importantly why did he care? She was mocking him; mocking him with her false promises of love and affections which he was quite sure now that she did not feel. He rose to his feet, this had to end. He would not allow it to go on any longer, no more would he allow the feelings that his heart betrayed for him guide his actions; to this he pledged a solemn vow.

Raoul got slowly to his feet as though the task was too great a one for him to undertake. He passed his hand over his eyes and massaged there as he wiped away the bitter tears that had fallen while he had been lost in his worrisome thoughts and walked up the path. Glancing about him he saw and heard many pleasant things, such as the children laughing merrily as they chased each other around the trails, or the cooing of a dove as he or she washed them in a nearby fountain. These things however pleasant they might have been did nothing to lift his sorry spirits in fact they only served to make him sadder.

He knew the reason for this was simple enough, for when a bitter man is around people whose lives are better than his he becomes envious. So, the only solution was to wait and hope that his life turned for the better sooner or later. Right now however he just did not see that happening nor any time in the near future. He just kept walking up the path, giving false smiles and hearted waves to the children who happened by. When one little girl who did not look a day older than for years came and offered him a light pink daisy he accepted it with a slightly truer smile and kissed the little girl on the cheek. She giggled and blushed before running back to her parents laughing as she told her sister what happened.

'_If only I could make Christine blush like that.'_Though he with a sigh as he made his way to the coach where to his surprise the coachman Jerrold was not sitting. Rather he was standing a few feet away from the door which, he usually would have held open and had an expression of the uttermost confusion and was looking positively dumbfounded. Now normally Raoul would have found this expression to be delightfully amusing and would have enjoyed a very good laugh had it been on the face of someone else. Jerrold however was sensitive and sober-minded, the practical sort of fellow that might be considered dry at parties or festivals.

Knowing this to be true, Raoul made his way to him quickly and when he inquired as to what the problem might be he was handed a letter. It was addressed to M. Raoul le Vicomte de Changy; written in red ink and done so in a very untidy childlike scrawl. Raoul stared at it in confusion for several moments before opening it for it did not contain a return address, nor did he recognize the handwriting as anyone he had or would ever correspond with. Still and may god curse him for it, he had a curious mind and was anxious to find out who was writing to him; he opened the letter. He immediately regretted it for what he saw broke his heart. The letter read:

_Monsieur de Changy:_

_If you value your life you will keep away from Mademoiselle Daae, for she is not intended for your heart and is my fiancé as of now. Keep away from my intended, or the consequences may be severe. I would hate to have anyone hurt or ridiculed due to your notions and it is the fondest wish of mile Daae as well as myself that nothing goes amiss under the roof of my theater. She also wishes for me to tell you that she gives you the best of luck on your pending polar expedition and any other ventures in your future. - O.G._

Raoul felt his heart breaking and he felt his legs giving way underneath him so that he was on his knees. Jerrold rushed to his master's aid and with a large amount of effort pulled him to his feet and guiding him on shaking feet towards the chariot where he gently shoved him inside. The young man was dead weight and stiff not hearing the vehicle as the driver made the horses begin their agonizingly slow trot towards the home of the de Changy family. He simply sat there his mind numb, his eyes aching with the force of his withheld tears. He looked at the letter again and squeezed his eyes shut crumpling it in his fist before for the first time he could remember crying himself to sleep.

_**- - - -**_

He was jarred awake by a sudden jolt in the road as the coach came to a stop in front of his estate. Jerrold opened the door and pulled him out of the buggy to the pathway. Sighing as he once again became lost in his sorrows he did not notice where he was going and tripped over his own shoe as he took a misstep. He fell forward blindly groping at the air to find some sort of object to steady himself with but instead came into contact with a pair of strong hands. His brother held him up and then lead him to the sofa where he laid him down. He groaned and coughed while his brother clicked his tongue at the state his brother was in.

"You have a fever..." said Philippe upon checking his temperature.

"Christine..." groaned Raoul as he laid a hand on his face.

"What about her?" asked his brother.

"Sh-she is betrothed... to another man..." he cried beginning to sob. When Philippe heard this he hugged his little brother and said how sorry he was. He knew how much his brother loved Christine and it angered him that she should give her heart to someone else without at least giving Raoul the courtesy of a note. When he at last calmed Raoul down enough so that he fell asleep. He noticed the crumpled paper in Raoul's fist and gently pried it from his fingers. He read it and threw it in the fireplace before setting to the task of writing a letter.

It read:

_Mile Daae:_

_Raoul has just informed me of your pending wedding and although I wish to offer my congratulations, I must tell you that this report has put him in quite an alarming state of health. He requests an audience with you in three days time at our estate so that he may offer you his congratulations in person at our estate._

_Yours,_

_Philippe _

Christine's post came and when she received the letter she decided that she could not wait three days and made his visit only a few moments after. When she arrived she found Raoul standing in the courtyard his back turned to her. When she touched him he did not turn but merely said, "how could you do it?"

"Do what?" she asked softly.

"Give your heart to someone else." he said stiffly.

"But I have not... Erik wrote that to frighten me and make you leave."

"Oho so his name is Erik!" he snapped. "Tell me, what made you fall for him."

"Dear it is a tragedy... oh my love such a tragedy." said she coming to stand before him

Her sentiments angered him so much that he shouted, "You my dear Christine are a lair in every possible sense. For there is no force on this earth or the next that should convince me that you have or ever did feel for me the things of which you claim. No, lovely Christine, your actions speak for themselves and no amount of false candidness can save you now. You do not love me, your only object was to torment me with listless seductions and masquerades of pitiful childishness! I cannot believe you would do such a thing to me, no not only to me. No, no, you have driven me mad! When I think that I had only one object in life: to give my name to an opera wench!" He continued to rave,"I shall die of shame!"

And with that he burst into tears as She allowed him to insult her saying, "You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul, and when you do I shall forgive you!"

She paled with shock "Raoul Martin Jacques de Changy ...How can you claim to love me when you speak to me in such a way?"

He risked one more sarcasm: "Oh and please, you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!"

"I shall never sing again, Raoul!... "She spoke in such a despairing voice that the lad began to feel remorse for his cruelty. "I came to tell you, dear, but I can't tell you now...you would not believe me! You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished! Oh Dear, it is a tragedy!"

Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and terror. The fresh complexion of former days was gone. A mortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming and so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless lines and traced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.

"My dearest! My dearest!" he moaned, holding out his arms. "You promised to forgive me..."

"Perhaps! Some day, perhaps! But for now just kiss me..." she said and he did.

When they broke apart they repeated their actions and a dark shadow passed over them. A voice said, "So you drop Erik's ring do you well woe to you..." as a skeletal hand picked up the golden band and disappeared into the morning.

.


	2. The story of the Opera Ghost

**Promises**

**A Phantom of the Opera story**

**By Don Juan's Red Death**

_**Chapter two**_

**- - - -**

Raoul groaned and broke apart from his beloved and smiled as she kissed him on the cheek, allowing him to stroke her neck and hold her in his strong arms. She looked up into his dazzling blue eyes, her own forget-me-nots watery with emotions. He touched her porcelain face, tears streaming down his cheeks as he traced his fingers over the sorrowful lines that had been sculpted from so many tears. Bending down to brush her forehead with his mouth, he felt the crease in her brow. She shuddered brokenly and nestled into his arms with a moan. The poor girl groaned and touched his cheek holding him for dear life.

She moaned and let her head fall on his chest, shutting her eyes and tried not to faint. Her beloved's hands did nothing to soothe her only to cause tremors that Raoul was making every attempt to make go away. It was to no avail for this only made her weep; when he begged her to quiet she looked up at him, shook her head and buried her face in the fabric of his shirt. Raoul muttered several words under his breath that were unsuitable for a young woman to hear before guiding her to the bench in the courtyard.

Once he had set her down he took out his handkerchief and wiped the streaks of water from her pale cheeks. When he moved to smear the tears from his face she stopped him and took the cloth setting it down in his pocket and gently kissed his cheeks until the salty liquid had dried. This brought a ghost of a smile to his face and he thanked her in the sweet sort of tone that resembled a love-struck boy who had just received his first kiss. She smiled and laid her tear-wet hand over the bridge of his forehead smoothing his dark brown hair out of his eyes.

He returned the gesture tenderly, smearing the tears that were now clinging to the blackened patches underneath her eyes. When he saw her shut her eyes again he pressed her to his heart and let her golden locks unfold like a limp halo of an angel who had fallen from grace. She made a soft mewl and he carefully laid down on the bench, her head resting on his chest. They slept like that for some hours and when they woke Raoul noticed that Christine's weight was no longer on his chest and he immediately rose to his feet.

Going into the parlor he saw his brother who greeted him pleasantly but answered in the negative when he asked if he had seen Christine. He did not have to look for long however for he suddenly heard a horrible choking sound that came from the washroom. Running inside he found that Christine was indeed there, but she was certainly not a happy sight, she was keeled over the commode vomiting violently into its basin. The young man pulled back her hair and called for the maid at once to bring her a fresh gown to replace the one that now has various amounts of spew plastered on it.

When it was brought the kind woman peeked over her spectacles , made a sort of ticking noise with her tongue thrice over and offered to help the poor girl change. She accepted willingly and followed the elderly housekeeper without so much as a word to Raoul who trailed close behind them till he came to the door of the master bedroom where he stepped inside and let the door swing on it's hinges till it was ajar and turning to watch her. She and the older woman went into the adjoining bathroom to wash and he heard the water running on the bath.

Raoul closed his eyes tightly feeling a great pain in his heart; it was agony for him to be so close to her and not be able to touch or even see her. He knew it was irrational, but he could not help himself for some reason... oh misery! Realizing that he was having a sudden urge to open the door and whisk her from the bath into his arms he sighed and shook his head. No, that was not at all proper and he chided himself for the thought. Beginning to pace the room he heard something that brought tears to his eyes, Christine was attempting to sing. Her voice was not heavenly as had been the night of the gala performance, but more timid and small. It broke the pieces of his half mended heart...

He made his way to the door when he heard the water cease to run and knocked softly. She did not answer him, but continued to sob brokenly sounding as though she was in great distress. She was; so distraught was she in fact that when he opened the door she did not turn to him but crumpled up into a ball and continued to sob. This worried him and he went to her, dragging her stiff form up gently and holding her close to his heart. The poor girl moaned and leaned closer shivering as though she were chilled.

Raoul did the only thing he knew to do, he leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead, her cheeks, and then finally her lips. Christine gripped his arm as she was lifted into a cradling posture and carried to the bench where he had slept beside her the night before and covered her up with his somewhat dusty cloak and stroked her honey-wheat tresses tenderly.

She whimpered at the soothing touch, drawing away from him as though she had been burned before looking away. He turned her face back towards him, checking her features to see if he had somehow harmed her but he found nothing to even suggest the thought and it worried him when she turned away refusing by her movements to look at him.

"Christine whatever is the matter?" he asked, his voice worried and all of a sudden frightened. Did she regret kissing him? Was that what had made her ill? Again he asked her, gently turning her face to look at him only now she did not turn away. Rather she began to cry openly into her hands not bothering to look the other way but instead beginning to collapse. Raoul held out his arms to clasp the girl in an embrace but she did not go to him, instead she walked by him to the edge of the balcony looking out forlornly at the city below.

Raoul sighed and came up to stand beside her, made a move to place his arm over her shoulders, but she shrugged him away and forbade him with a gesture to try again. "Leave me..." she said although her eyes told him plainly that she feared being alone. He refused knowing she did not truly wish him to go and draped an arm around her shoulders even though she tried to shrug him away.

The poor girl turned to him, looking at him with all the stressed affection possible removing his arm and beginning to turn away as she gazed over her shoulder. The young man sighed and brushed away the sudden urge to shake the life back into her, replaced by another one just as powerful to take her in his arms and cradle her like a child.

"It was a lie..." she moaned, "he is no angel."

Raoul knew this of course but was not so cruel as to bring it up, he pressed her gently to his heart the beating of it simple and gentle. Smoothing her golden locks and whispering words of love that made her tremble. He buried his nose in her locks and let his lips brush the little patch of skin on in between the parts of her hair. She settled into his arms with a moan, shivering like mad and muttering to herself as if she were possessed.

"Look here..." Raoul said his voice a little shaky and he took her chin in the softness of his hand. Forget-me-not eyes met sky-water blue one glistening with tears the other shadowy with a hidden fear that masked his compassion. "Can't you tell me what all this means?"

She turned away from him. "Christine!" he said and shook her gently as if to wake her from a troubled sleep. She started, blinked and passed a distressed hand over her eyes. He sighed and scooped her up while she lay passive staring at him, wide-eyed like a kitten who had been abused.

She then said again only this time in a more distressed voice," Leave me!" Raoul did not budge, found himself frozen to the spot and his legs tightening painfully. "Raoul... as you love me!" she pressed forward to his chest and said again, "Leave me!"

"NO!" cried the lad with a sudden fire in his eyes as he yanked her to him. Then softly: "No, I will not leave you because I love you."

Her reply did nothing to calm him: "Oh..Raoul..you must forget about us." then in that dramatic way that belonged only to her: "You must forget our love."

"No..." He said again only this time in the manner of which an impatient parent would to his disobedient child. "No, I will not."

"Raoul... you poor dear, please do not refuse my in this. I could not bear to see you dead! Not like this, not by _him_!"

"But who is _he!" _Raoul asked in earnest, fearing that he himself would soon go mad.

She began to sob. "_He_ is Erik!" she said her voice faint. "_He_ is the man who hides in the dark! He is the man who is more creature than anything you have ever met!" she cradled her face in her hands, "_He_ is a man who you cannot help but pity, but also a man who you could not help but fear. _He _is my angel of music, _he is the phantom!" _and with that she burst into tears.

Raoul passed his hand over his eyes and decided not to try to hold her as was his first instinct. "Christine come now... you don't really believe such things do you?" he asked, hoping that this was just some brilliant ruse of hers and would soon be over.

The wish was short-lived however for she said to him: "No Raoul, no games." In a softer more childlike voice. "I have seen him! Oh gods! Such a man is he, so lost, so broken and yet so... horrible. Oh Raoul you cannot imagine!"

"I think I can..." said he remembering the letter from before. "Tell me how you met this... " he hesitated," man."

"My father had told me that when he died I would be visited by an angel of music. As you know he died and I was put into an orphanage in Rouen where the good Madame Valèrious became my guardian and took me here to Paris. I learned here to speak French and soon went to the opera to learn to dance and so on and so forth. Well for three years I did not see, nor hear this angel. I had begun to loose all hope of ever hearing him. One day soon after that however I was lying asleep in my bed when a voice called to me. 'Wake Child,' it said and I obeyed it instantly.

I, of course thought at first that it was my father, but when I addressed it as such it said to me in a very beguiling voice that he was not my father but rather he who my father promised me. "

"Of course you must have been skeptical..." Said Raoul though he knew it was a false hope.

"No..." she said miserably... " no Raoul! Oh what a fool I have been. I was so trusting in my father's promise that I trusted in it immediately. For the next three months it taught me the fundamentals of music, befriended me and we became close. One night however I finally gathered up my courage to ask it what it truly was, and although it had at once already answered this question, this time it gave me a different answer!"

"And what was that answer?" asked Raoul with worried interest.

"It simply told me that it was or would be, whatever I wanted it to be. Well of course I asked it then that if it could be anything that I asked then could it assume the form of my father for I dearly miss him." she brushed a tear from her eyelid and Raoul rubbed her back understandingly . Heaving a deep sigh she went on, though it took her a moment to compose herself and to collect her thoughts.

"At this the voice became solemn and piteous and he told me plainly that he would do so if he could but that what I asked was the one thing he could not give. I became sad at this and the voice appeared to notice for he said to me softly as any friend would, 'besides you would not want me too even if I could.' when I asked it why it said, 'because I would not be your father. I would look like your father, perhaps even play as well as he, but I would not be him. I would not have his soul.'

I understood now and then asked the voice that if it could not give me my father could it at least give me more music as he would have done. It answered, 'music it is then, perfect and flawless music to astonish the world.' And he began teaching me. Oh the voice with which he spoke had been flawless as it was, but the voice with which he _sang_... oh my dear Raoul, the angels wept in his throat! Only their tears could have given him such a voice!"

Raoul nodded thinking of the graveyard in Perros where he had first heard this so-called angel and found himself shuddering.

He motioned for her to go on, "He played for me every night until I fell asleep... which was usually not very long for as you know I have always been a quick sleeper. But the music he played was just so beautiful that I would wake more than once with the refrain on my lips and he would play it again to lull me back into dreams. One night however after the night of my performance in Faust I saw..." she stopped.

"Go on!" said Raoul urgently, "What did you see?"

"I saw _you_ my dear! After all these years, I saw the little hero by the beach who saved my scarf from the sea. You cannot have guessed how happy I was at that moment."

"No indeed," replied the young man gravely, "But if you were indeed so happy to see me then why may I ask did you treat me as though we were total strangers?"

"I feared for you my dear... the moment you left the voice followed saying that if I am to find an earthly love than I had use for music. I begged it to forgive me, begged it to stay for I longed for nothing more than to hear it in my dreams once more. It forgave me and said that I should stop crying before I ruined my voice. I obeyed and went to brush my hair. My legs had grown too tight for me to sit after my fainting spell so I stood in front of my full-length mirror. Well first I saw only my face... which is the normal thing to do when you are looking in a mirror. But then another face appeared... a man's face."

"A man's face...Christine are you certain?" asked a very disturbed Raoul.

"Yes... it was a man's face. A horribly fantastic face but still a face nonetheless. It was then the rest of him appeared, a cloak on a skeleton frame with that mask that covers his hole face save for his mouth. He extended his hand and I backed away..."

"Oh goodness I should hope so..." Raoul interrupted letting go of a withheld breath.

"The voice began to sing to me... hypnotic...it was _he._ I followed down, deeper into a darkness that I had only seen in my nightmares. I heard the sound of a horse and the next thing I was at a house on a lake and by the side of a man. I began to weep, and the man said to me, 'There is no need to fear me. I am he who teaches you, he who _loves _you! Do not fear me Christine.' I abused him, called him a dishonest coward and called upon him to take off his mask. When he would not I became unreasonably angry and with a movement of pure spite that I was utterly unable to control tore the mask off his face.

I have never seen something so horrid in all my days, a burning skull with eyes so golden they were almost yellow. A red death's head come to life!"

She trembled before going on.

"He pulled me to him and forced me took look at him, 'Look at me! Look at who I am, at _what_ I am! Now you see me, yes, now you see your angel! My voice you say is a gift from heaven, but as _I _once told _you_**– FOR A GIFT FROM HEAVEN THERE CAN BE HELL TO PAY!!**' he pulled me closer still as he continued to rave, 'Tear it off, my _love! _Come now 'tis not that difficult just like the other. With your prying hands you should have no trouble!' he made me tear at his flesh and it tore so easily that blood dripped form the slightest gouge... He gave me a mirthless laugh and said darkly 'it's not coming off is it Christine? No, indeed the mask is still in place... (another twisted laugh) or could it be that this is not a mask? No this is my mask of birth the one that my own mother could not remove to see the man beneath! And now neither shall you!' "

"I hate this man!" came the Vicomte's passionate cry. "I–"

Christine interrupted his sentence: "No dear, do not hate him pity him!" she went on in her narrative before he could ask what she meant, "He thrust himself down on his knees and wept before me... such sobs were his! I tore a roughly cut piece of cloth and handed it to him so that he mopped up the fluid form the gushing cuts. He did so. When he had cleaned himself up he reached into his cloak pocket, and pulled a gold ring from its confines. He closed my hand around it and told me that it was a promise of our loyalty... not love just loyalty. It is the same ring I wear now. Oh Raoul I am so glad to be able to confide in you as these thoughts were ailing me as you saw earlier."

"I am happy to have helped you Christine, but where is this ring you speak of?" asked a bewildered Raoul.

"Why its right here on my--" she pailed, "Oh Erik have mercy on me!"


	3. Misery

**Promises**

**By Don Juan's Red Death **

_**Chapter three**_

- - - -

"Erik... have mercy on me!" wailed the poor child beginning to pace as if the devil possessed her. The Vicomte de Changy began to viciously chew at his mustache, his eyes darting this way and that never leaving her face. Christine did not turn to look at him but turned her eyes skyward her lips moving in silent prayer. Her knuckles were turning with a pallor to a sheet-like white as she wrung her hands, plead with some silent enemy. "Erik!" she cried, "O HEAVEN! O HEAVEN!"

"What the devil?" Raoul looked at her and a cry escaped from his own throat. He went forward, made a move to clasp her in his arms. She did not seem to notice him, continuing to rave like a lunatic. The young man at first, did not know whether to try and hold her again or pass his hand over his eyes. Settling for the second option he heaved a sigh and rubbed his face. He then began to curse every god he'd ever heard of for giving her the sort of upbringing she had.

Turning his eyes heavenward he cast three final curses, one for her father and his silly fairytales, another for her benefactress and her beliefs in this, this angel... and thirdly he threw himself in for good measure. Looking around the courtyard he found a large vase filled with lilies and after removing the flowers, dumped the bucket on the girl's head.

Christine turned and looked at him for a moment as if she were dazed then she turned away, appearing at first as if she had not noticed but turning around swiftly to gaze at him. If it had not been for the state she was in she would have given Raoul a piece of her mind for acting so childishly, however she merely wept. Raoul went to her, holding out his arms to which she immediately sought, and with great tenderness pressed her to his heart. His hands began fumbling with her hair as he tried not to tear her sticky locks. Sighing he once again cursed every god he had ever heard of, wishing this were just some nightmare that he would wake up happily rescued by the woman he loved and that her voice and features like all things would return to normal.

Alas however these 'dreams' were much more real than he would have liked and he was finding it harder to keep himself from falling prey to the same maddening terror that gripped the poor girl in his arms.

She looked at him, only for a moment before covering her eyes with her hands again. "Raoul leave me, before he comes! Before it is too late, oh heaven!" the poor child thrust herself away from him, making a wild dash out of the courtyard, the young man starting to follow as she forbade him with a trembling wave of her hand. Raoul sighed and passed a sweaty hand over his tear-wet eyes... that girl was beginning to aggravate him! One moment she was in his arms, weeping over a promise that had for all intensive purposes long ago been broken. The next she was fleeing from him in a mad terror as if he were the spawn of Satan himself. He sighed... when was he, if ever going to understand that girl? He sighed again... yes... she was certainly a mystery.

Raoul lost himself in his worrisome thoughts as he had often done the past few days. He sat down on the bench and gathered the cloak with which he had covered her. Pressing the fur-lined collar to his cheek and inhaling the fragrance of there mingled colognes. He cursed Erik! He hated Erik! That man had Christine's heart in the palm of his, as she so put it 'skeletal hand' even when she pretended to be unaware of it.

Yes, that was why she had fled his arms, cringed from his touch the way she had... begging_ his_ forgiveness and mercy! His first suspicion had been correct, she was playing him, playing on their old friendship. Playing him just as brilliantly as her father played his old violin and god... for some reason he loved it. Standing up he began to pace, his shoes scuffed up from the occasional stone he happened to kick up. Muttering oaths and things that he hoped his mother, wherever she was could not hear. A half-hearted smirk formed on his lips as he thought of her turning over in her grave, a shocked expression on her chubby pale face.

A hand came on his shoulder, startling him so much that he yelped and whirled on his heels. Sighing with relief as his blue eyes met the earthen-speckled green irises of the count. Philippe, who had just been finishing a brunch of blueberry crepes and deviled eggs, had been on his way out the door to a business venture. He had just been placing his bowler hat on his head when he had heard the frightened and seemingly mad rambles of the young prima-donna and gone to see what the trouble was. Now as he had come to witness, his younger brother was once again looking to be in an undesirable state of health. His face flushed and reddened and his eyes slightly bulging from their sockets. The count, who had now begun to worry not only for his younger brother's physical health but also mental state went to him to see what, if anything, could be done to assist him.

A decision he now thoroughly regretted.

Raoul, upon turning began to not only sob, but to rave and flail in his grief. Philippe, sighed, massaged his temples and took his brother by the shoulders guiding him into the foyer. Calling for the butler to bring him some heavy English scotch and blood oranges. The man agreed and bowed out, mixing the ingredients and adding one drop of brandy. "Drink it down," he said and had to literally force the concoction to his brother's lips. Raoul took it into his mouth, but due to the violent nature of his misery choked it into his handkerchief. The count was suddenly grateful for his own drink and swallowed it down without stopping.

At some point Raoul did the same.

"Now then." said the count presently as he mixed another cocktail. "What's all this blither blather about?"

Raoul then told the count of all that Christine had told him and more so of his own feelings. At first, his elder brother was piteous and held the manner of a kindly father. After a few minutes however he began to shake his head and raised a quieting hand to his brother. He then proceeded to explain that Raoul already knew that she did not love him. That she had indeed came here bearing his ring and that she was promised to him.

The Vicomte de Changy, however was not persuaded by his brother's words and beginning to cry again let out a yell of, "Oh by the gods if however many there may be. Curse this man as thou hath cursed me! Curse him and let her love me again! Let him be the one who loves a woman who he cannot have!" and with that he burst into a violent spur of agony that caused him to vomit.

'_Poor wretch,' _thought Philippe as he held the young man's hair back firmly in one hand while he mopped his mouth with the other using a pocket handkerchief from his overcoat. He then proceeded to tell Raoul that it was all just as well that she should love someone else for there marriage would have been scandalous in any case. Also that if she loved this man then it was also only right that she be with him, for if she had married him and then gone to this Erik in secret she would have the sins of eve and his love be damned. Raoul quieted at this and then put his head in his hands.

"Besides, " said the older man cheerily as he used a stip of cloth from a nearby drawer and tied his brother's hair. "Its just as well, if Iwere you to not want such a fickle creature. " Raoul looked up at him questionably and he went on. "Your union would be completely improper. Noble blood and stage whore, think of the slander!"

"**NOBLE BLOOD BE DAMNED!" **Raoul roared in response and swallowed another glass of brandy. Calming himself he said, " I'm sorry brother... I'm just so blasted tired of everyone reminding me of noble stature. I know what I am. I know who I am. And I also know who she is. Oh brother, if only you could understand. But you can't can you? You who were always under father's wing and grew up in the ways of society. You do not know how to love do you? Yes Philippe I am in love, and that is why I say again: noble blood be damned!"

Philippe sighed and rose steadily to his feet, shaking his head at the sentimental nonsense coming from the young man's mouth and silently cursed the nuns. They and their hopeless romantic fiddle-faddle had turned his younger brother into a feminist- and the worse one he had ever seen at that. All this talk of love was all fine and sweet but when it came down to it there was no way that the high-class ranking members of Parisian or any other society would accept an opera girl in their midst.

He sighed again and passed a weary hand over his eyes as he set his bowler hat and picked up his briefcase. Looking down at Raoul one last time he bent and touched his shoulder before leaving the house.

**-0o0-**

Raoul slept for several hours on the sofa where his brother had left him and his dreams were not at all pleasant. He remembered clearly the face as she had described it clearly. And now that he was picturing it he agreed whole heartedly with her. It was a horribly fantastic face indeed! He wept even in sleep as the nightmare played, as he pictured her kissing_ his _lips, putting her arms around that grossly boney neck, looking deeply into those burning yellow eyes and smiling. He grimaced as he saw in his minds eye, the man she loved tucking one long golden lock of her hair behind the pale curve of her ear. It killed him inside and with a moan he turned his head away to try and faze it out. The more he tried the less it worked and soon he was stuck; frozen in this nightmare and forced to watch his greatest agony play out before his eyes.

He watched her smile and heard the coo of her laughter the sweet pitch of her joy radiant in the sound. Next he heard the man's voice... _Erik's _voice deeply telling her some tale from some far off land. He wept, both in that realm and the natural one, but the tears though cold were merciless and did not serve to wake him. Still he looked through the slits that his now bleary eyes were becoming seemingly hypnotized by the couple sitting so close to one another. Memorized by the sound of their voices, his deep musical drawl and her sweet dove-like laughter.

The story soon ended and he began to sing to her, first a love song which he had said was written by himself for her. Then as she became drowsy, the song changed. It was tantalizingly familiar and as it crescendoed he came to know it. It was the old fiddler's tale of Little Lotte and the angel of music. How the man knew that was beyond Raoul's comprehension but he assumed since the dream was in his mind that the figments of the manifestation had access to everything that he knew. Still it pained him and when he cried out his anguish at last his mind pitied him and let him wake. He lay there, drenched and weeping as he silently cursed Christine.

He had loved an angel.

Now he pitied and despised a woman.


	4. Enter Erik!

**Promises**

**A Phantom of the Opera story**

**By Don Juan's Red Death**

_**Chapter four**_

- - - -

_From the mind of Erik..._

It has been three days. Three days since I saw them together. Three days since that boy dared to touch what is mine... three days since she betrayed me. Three days since she kissed his lips, let him hold her in his arms. Three long days...It is very cold here in Paris and not a peep has been heard from the managers. I am ill, as usual for a phantom is never in particularly good health by definition. Ghosts are not obligated to do such things anyways. The doctors would not heal me even if they could. No, I wager that the booby would just lark about vomiting over the sight of Erik's face. There is no cure for what ails me anyways, for you see I am dying. Yes, my life will soon be over and with it all memories of my poor unhappy Erik. Some may think that I should call to me a man of the church to my side to give me my absolution, but that to me is folly. Why would I bother with such things when I am such a sinner?

No, there will be no last-rights for me; no beautiful words in the old language, no coffin, no candles, no hymns. There will be only darkness, only the pale, cold abyss of my everlasting hell. But there is not truly a difference if one were to think about it, for that is really all that my life ever has been. All thirty-six years. By the devil; I cannot believe that I have been alive for thirty-six years, for it feels like so much more... _so much more... _For you see it is not a usual infection that makes me weak and causes me too look far older than my years.

I am going to die because I am in love.

It is true what I say though there is no reports of it in any of my nor France's medical books. It is not the love that will kill me however, but the lack thereof. For you see when one who loves is not loved by the one they love in return their heart is broken. That is why I feel much older than my thirty and six winters and that is why I am dying. My heart is broken

In fact it feels as if I am as old as time, no older than that even; older than time. As old as the eternals of legends, the incarnations themselves cannot compare to the weariness of my spirit. My soul is as old as the old father William in the poem of Robert Frost. As a matter of fact, I am father William himself in all my bumbling, tumbling, glory.

Forgive me, my throat is heavy with bile and I must turn away. Please do not look at me I am chocking and must remove my mask, so please be so kind as to turn away. Ah... that is much better, thank you for your consideration. Anyways, my heart feels old now, though to you I am not old only just now reaching my middle years. But as you can see I by no means look to be my natural age. My skin is as wrinkled as stone and only adds to the ugliness that so plagues me and my tortured mind. No... no do not say, 'poor unhappy Erik,' I cannot stand your pity. Indeed it is the one thing I disdain above all else, and I disdain a great many things as you well know.

Christine will learn that soon enough when the gold band I gave her becomes more than just some symbol of loyalty as she told that pretty little boy of hers. Oh yes, she may pity me but soon she will love me... oh yes she will love me. No, better, she will not only love me but she will surrender herself to my every whim like a good little girl. Of course she will take some persuasion, and more than anything some... discipline. My little songbird has been naughty as of late, singing when she has been instructed to do so. But not to worry my girl, Erik will take care of all of that for you and soon you will learn to be a good little girl like you ought to be.

Ah, I see you are gazing at my home, my furniture to be precise, it is my mother's you know. I love this ring, you see it was hers too. I stole it from her jewelry box when I was a young boy nearly thirty years ago and angry with her because she had, "forgotten" to feed me- again- so I stole the ring and hid it in one of my little hideaway tiles. I had many of those so she was never able to find it. I had gotten a beating that day so badly that I nearly died. But enough about my life before the opera, you see I am planing to use it as a wedding band for my lovely little girl. Of course that means I am planning to marry her you great booby! Why else would I use it?

What do you mean by that, it is most certainly not impossible thank you very much! Oh, I know she does not love me, that hardly matters to me in any case. She will learn to love me in time and even if she does not, she will learn to behave towards me and tolerate our life. What about the boy you ask? Oh pish-posh and poppycock, that boy is no threat to me even with his looks. He is nothing more than an over-decorated, slimy perfume spattered peacock. Although I must admit, he would make a very nice prop here in the opera... oh the things I could do to that pretty face of his. Why he might even look better than he does, from what I saw three days ago he is already somewhat girlish. A little makeup would complete the picture.

Forgive my laughter. If you will excuse me I am late. It is none of your business what for! Thank you Daroga! No... I promise not to kill anyone and thank you for your kind visit and please allow me to disable the traps before you leave, as we would not want any misfortunes to befall you do to my own negligence. Yes, yes, here we are good bye Daroga . Now to see to mare important matters, which is going to by difficult as it seems that now my head does not like my moving around so much and has decided to throb the bloody living daylights out of me. How tiresome! Where did I put that blasted headache powder? Aha! Here it is, there much better.

Let's see what's going on in the outside world, ah my little songbird is talking to the boy as she gets ready to play the lead in Faust. Pity, how beautiful she looks, for she has been a bad little thing chirping away when she was not supposed to. I think her punishment shall be a three day stay with me. That will show her that I am not to be trifled with. She is doing her hair, is it as soft as it looks I wonder? It must be for no angel should have scraggly stiff locks especially not one who is as pretty as my girl.

She is fitting a necklace with the boy's help, he is touching her more than he should be. Young fool, the necklace is on now step away and take your hands off what is mine- or soon to be mine. Oh yes, there's a good girl back away- no not into him you fool- the other direction! Ugh, I shall now be looking into more than teaching you music but also directions! That boy is beginning to annoy me, what with his hands all over her back and shoulders... I must make a mental note to kill the boy later. She is turning towards him and saying something, "Erik," yes... me! Now what about me? "Ring,"

Erik and Ring... we are getting somewhere keep going!

"Kill you." Yes, I am going to kill him, thank you for pointing that out. For you see my dear, no one, man or woman shall touch what belongs to Erik. I should think you, of all people my sweet Christine would know that by now; but then again you always were a silly little girl; as naive as a lark caught with the bait of a hunter's net.

You will understand in time, for in time my voice will be the only one you hear and the boy will be nothing but a faint memory. I will make you mine Christine, mine in more than just your body. Your body is forbidden to one such as myself, but your soul is an entirely different matter. It is in this way that you shall be mine, not with bodily pleasures... no indeed not with the forbidden fruits of lust. I shall not be Adam, and you my love shall never be Eve... the joys of the flesh shall be remaining on its forbidden tree.

Far from my grasp.

I have not the need to possess you in such a way in any case, for such pleasures can always be purchased for the right price. No woman or man has true desires for one such as me. But as you can see by the looks of your young man, the societies of the human race is a vulgare mix of greed and lust and so are the creatures that inhabit it. Dregs of men, scores of women feasting themselves with their own selfishness, gorging on the meaningless man-made pleasures of this world. Perfectly happy to accept the mediocrity of the outside world, perfectly happy to remain ignorant of the true passions and beautiful things in this ever changing world.

Not me...

I can teach you the true things, the things that really matter: love and music. But for me to do that you must first pay the price, you must forsake the outside. Leave the world you know and come to be with me forever... oh if only you would... the music we could make together! But you will not, for I am ugly, an ugly dog at the heel of his master. If I were Raoul you would come to me willingly, you would smile and laugh. I am not however and therefore you do not love me. Love me or not Christine you will be mine, and perhaps one day you will love me as I so long to be loved.

I am sorry it has to end like this Christine, but I tire of being alone and long for you in the deepest sense of the word. Not in the carnal ways, for those are always open to me. Although looking at you in all your angelic beauty would make even a dead man long cold in his grave think the most pleasurably sinful thoughts imaginable. I long to have your soul, and as you know Erik always gets what he desires even if he has to kill. Oh, I do sincerely hope that it does not come to this, but if it does then so be it.

Ah my little songbird, it seems I have been pondering matters of you for far too long. My mind is turning sinfully dreamy and I must go assuage it with my music. Sing for me tonight and only for me and that will be a sign that you accept my offer. You have a gift from heaven, now give the devil his due.

_Au revoir,_ Till tonight my love


	5. The Madness of Paris

**Promises**

**A Phantom of the Opera story**

**By Don Juan's Red Death**

**Chapter five**

**- - - -**

Raoul ran his fingers through his brown hair for what must have been the umpteenth time letting a grim smile mar his mouth. He could not stop thinking about Christine, and what he felt for her. He felt like the world would crush him, and at the moment he would have welcomed it as much as a heavenly chorus that had come from the other world to sing him to sleep. Passing his hand tiredly over his eyes he wiped the clear streaks of sticky slime that had once been the remainders of tears. Now they were smears of grime that tangled up his mustache and made his cheeks look sweaty. He did not know for how long it was that he had wept that day, and he had the sudden urge to weep again. The pain of tears was already behind his eyes at the thought and it took all he had to fight it down and force them back.

He cried often these days, so much so that his brother had taken to locking him in his room when he was feeling sad or upset. Letting him weep and more often than not curse himself in his mirror. He smiled grimly again and sipped a glass of hard-up brandy as he sat on the silken sheets of his bed. He looked at the golden sheets and intricately woven patterns which snaked up and down in the vine like patterns of ivy drooping over a hedge. His blue eyes traveled in companion to his finger as he traced the design, and welled with tears as he felt its velvet softness, so satiny, just like her hair. And the pattern was golden, also like her hair while the soft red that was the background looked to him tantalizingly close to the shade of her lips.

Raoul's eyes began to spill over and he tried to put her out of his mind so he forced himself to look at nothing in particular, just at anything but the bed. He looked at the walls first, found them and moreover the continuous ramble of thoughts that staring at the empty space prompted to be as mind-numbing as a loud marching band. Next he looked at the shelf atop his dresser and found a mirror there which glared back at him sourly. No good either, that made him angrier for he could not bear to look at the wreck he had become. Not looking at himself made it easier not to live and lock himself away in the cavern of his mind. There he could have anything and everything that he had ever wanted, there he could have Christine.

Christine... her name was what brought him the most pain. Every time he thought of her he cried, every time he cried he would miss her and the thought would feed on his misery and longing so that it became more potent by one thousand fold. He looked at the wall again and sighed, closing his eyes and picturing the fondest memory he could. When she kissed him. He found himself groping deafly at the air as he tried in vain to conjure her by shaping the air with his hands. He touched his lips and found to his own agonized pleasure that his lips still felt moist and soft as though she had just kissed him. They did not hold the warm feeling of it though and when he opened his eyes again his lips felt almost painfully cold.

Raoul took in a shaky breath and went to the trunk of nick-knacks that he found somewhat comforting over the years. These little things were as precious to him an any of his family heirlooms in the vast Changy estate. They were not worth much when it came to money value but he loved them more than anything. He looked first at some old photographs that had sentimental value. The first of his brother and him ridding horses at Grandfather Changy's country estate, he had been a very young boy then nearly five.

The next was at his Holy Communion where he was dressed in the usual Christian robes and wearing the customary cross on his neck as the father gave the holy words to bless the wafer that he had to eat, and the bishop murmured prayers of thanks to God. The third man, one of the pope's own cardinals was in the back and holding a large goblet of wine of which was to be drank for the blood of the lord. The two other men were his brother, who stood behind him dutifully and the cardinal's second who blessed the holy water. He put the photograph back in the box.

The third was the cross he had worn on that day. It glinted dazzlingly in the little beam of sunlight that had somehow managed to filter through the curtains. The light, he found hurt his eyes so much he shaded them with the cap of his hand he gazed at the silver chain. It was a pretty little thing that held the tiniest statue of a crucifix at the end all decked in silver save for the little false ruby in the center which was meant to symbolize the sacred heart of Jesus as it bled for the sins of mankind. To him however it represented a pain far greater than any crucifixion could ever have given him. It represented the unrequited and unproven love of the savior and whomever it was or had been that he had loved at one time. For the Vicomte De Changy however it was that of which his mind made it out to be that caused him to cry freshly.

He put it away and sniffed loudly as he took out a faded copy of William Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. The story ought to be called, _The Tragic and unrequited love Story of Raoul de Changy. _He flipped lethargically through the elaborately gold-trimmed pages till he came to a passage that both broke and sickened his heart. The few paragraphs that he read told of Paris's thwarted proposal to his beloved Juliet. It was at the time that he had been comparing Juliet's beauty to the sun and moon, saying verses that he, Raoul could only dream of making.

He read the passage aloud: _"My Juliet, your beauty would cost me my heart, had in the palm of your hand did it so painfully doth reside. Be mine, my fair Juliet and save the heart and the life which pulses in your hand alone_." it was then that Juliet confessed her love for Romeo and later that night which Paris with his last ounce of valor challenged Romeo to a duel and fell slain at his feet. Raoul felt tears burning in his eyes. Paris had died for love, died at the hands of Romeo the antagonist. The story seemed oddly familiar to the one that fate had dealt him, only with different actors. He, the man who loved her was Paris and the... _creature _who she loved was Romeo.

Raoul put the book back in its place and took out the last item in the box: a red scarf. The same red scarf that he had rescued nearly eight years ago from the sea. He closed his eyes and cried, she had given him this scarf when he had left Sweden to go to military school, said that she did not want him to forget her. He had promised her that he never would and kissed her deeply, making her promise that no matter what she would wait for him. She did as he asked only after making him promise to write and swearing that she would wait for the end of time for him if she must. Daddy Daae thought it all very quaint and adorable that his daughter should have found her first love and begged him to take a picture with his daughter. Raoul agreed to this happily and kissed her mouth while her father took it.

That was the last time he had seen her as a child and the first time he had ever truly kissed her. It had been her first real kiss, he on the other hand had been way more experienced than he ought to have had at the tender age of nineteen. She had been a little clumsy in the beginning and it took her a moment to figure out what she was doing. When she did however Raoul discover that the young girl was a sensitive natural to the prospect of romance. It seemed also, that her innocence had held a hidden passion for it was one of the sweetest kisses he had ever experienced. Tears pooled in his blue eyes. He let them fall and tossed the scarf into the fireplace watching it burn. He then put his face on his knee and wept.

Philippe, had been walking by his brother's room when he heard the sobs again for what would have been the fifth time that day. Sighing he walked on to the foyer were he asked that Henri, the secondary butler bring him a shot of brandy and ask that Luc, the busboy bring him the second for his younger master. The Comte, truth be told was in no mood whatsoever to deal with another one of Raoul's fits. But seeing as he had nothing better to do at the moment and also feeling obligated to confront him back to his senses decided to stick it out. Thanking Luc and Henri, he carried the two shots down the hallway to his brother's room.

He knocked, once, twice, a third and forth time but still no answer came from inside the room only the off rhythm heavy breathing which was now a part of his daily routine. The count hit the door softly for the fifth time and this time Raoul made a moan that though unintelligible by normal standards sounded awfully similar to 'go the bloody hell away.' Philippe sighed and cast his eyes to the heavens as he pushed the door open anyway ignoring his brother's muttered curses and protests. This was the third time this month that Philippe had done something he knew he would regret later. The count had to press his hand to his mouth to keep from losing his morning tea and cucumber sandwiches, and even then he felt greenish-brown colored spew ruin his white glove and foul the taste of his mouth with bitterness.

The condition of the young Vicomte's room was that of a trash heap to put it at its best. Whiskey bottles were everywhere and the room stank of piss and other things too grossly sickening to mention. Most of the bottles were broken and the last dregs of liquor were staining the now tattered Persian rug that had once so majestically adorned the room, its elaborate patterns were now a rusty brown color where they had at one time been a snow shade of pristine white with blue roses the color of a summer sky. It made Philippe want to shed a tear to see such an intricate work of art destroyed. There was more than that for in each rose pattern was the carving of the words. _Erik must die_. They were spelled out in smeared whiskey with just a drop of red ink and engraved in the carpet by what looked like the work of a very unsteady forefinger. It was the drop of red ink that made him shudder for this combined with the rusty brownish gold rust of the whiskey gave it the appearance of blood.

Philippe shook his head and felt his eyes automatically gazing about the rest of the room. Which to his own displeasure was though not as bad still disgusting all the same. There were drawings plastered all over the room covering every inch of the polished oaken walls; all of them gruesome to put it lightly. The count suddenly knew why none of his maids dared to come in here, even to clean; his brother was stark-raving mad.

The drawings depicted several things, one of them was a man with blue eyes crying the blood that poured openly from the broken heart that he held cradled in upturned palms, whilst a beautiful woman withdrew her knife from its folds. The man in the portrait was clearly holding his own heart for though his eyes were tearful the poor wretch's face was otherwise blank and deadly. The woman however was as fresh as a summer day and a handsome vixen at that, her hair was of rubies and her lips were the light softness of pink roses, her eyes the gray shade of a dove's downy feathers. The knife she held was a blackish red from the blood that it dripped. The worst part was the gaping hole that the male figure had torn in himself to give her his heart.

The second was of a once handsome man who was now as hideous as a gargoyle for though his body was still the equal of Michael Angelo's David he had nailed himself between the eyes and through his irises as well to a flaming heart mounted on a crucifix. This one Philippe tore from the wall with a strangled cry of inward pain. To have such things going through his brother's mind was painful and he really did not need an outward reminder that he had not helped much. All these endless hours of unchecked weeping and solitude had surely driven his brother mad. Days and nights in the dark had given way to elaborate madness and the mental state for such visions and he, Philippe had just turned his head away and closed the door.

The last one he dared look at was by far the most sickening, a young woman who was undoubtably Christine was standing at a wedding alter and set to marry her fiancé. She was a vision in white but she was frightened for standing over her was a reincarnate of, The Thing Under The Bed and the altar on which she married him was that of the devil himself. And the man reviled her. The count threw this one in the fireplace and then at last ventured to look at the part of the room he feared the worst; his brother. Raoul was sitting crouched with a half empty bottle in his hands, whimpering piteously and murmuring...something. Philippe walked closer and then he heard it, "Christine." Philippe looked at the drawings again as he heaved a sigh, he now understood what the drawings meant.

Agony.

He came to his brother wordlessly and pulled him into a tight hug, the kind a despairing father might give his son after a death in the family or after he was kidnaped and then returned safely home. Raoul, struggled a moment before laying his head against his brother's shoulder and closing his eyes. He moaned and threw up all over the count but still Philippe held tight and murmured soothingly to him. At last Raoul spoke, and when he did his voice was thick with exhaustion, "Always Paris, never Romeo, oh how my Juliet hath tormented me..." Philippe gently rubbed his back and shushed him. Raoul, who was not used to such affront displays from his brother took a moment to heed his words and still he sobbed quietly.

"Ssh, little one. " said his brother softly "There will be another for you..." he gently smoothed his brother's hair, "My poor boy. " He kissed his hair and his temple as he gently took his arm and lead him to the washroom where he had to help him strip and climb into the tub. Carefully the Comte washed the boy that he had pretty much raised as he smoothed away the crusted muck of dirt and dried alcohol he noticed several jagged cuts on his arms that were leaving ugly red marks where the sharp edge had scored the flesh and muscle, but thankfully missed major arteries and vessels.

They marred the exotically tanned skin. The navy had done wonders for his skin tone. "Raoul, you've hurt yourself." he said and washed them gently sitting him up to wrap them in gauze. At last he took Raoul's hand and closed it around the sponge so that he could help him wash his groin without really touching him there. The task took a few minutes due to the weakness of Raoul's grip but when he had finished Philippe gently helped up and dressed him in a men's sleeping gown with robe.

Guiding him into the foyer he set him down and brought him some mineral water with two ice cubes the way he liked it. After his drink Raoul allowed himself to be pushed gently down on the sofa and have his forehead stroked till the throbbing ache in his head eased somewhat at least enough so that the pain just became a dull burning in the back of his skull. He closed his eyes and let his tears fall down, though these tears were warm from happiness. His brother had not shown these affections in a long time and he was grateful for them now.

Philippe sighed and shushed him again as he began to sing a lullaby that went something like this:

"_Here lies a babe in the soft brush._

_All around the animals come to a hush._

_For that babe sleeps, its dreams are deep._

_And no one dare wake, the child_

_the babe that lies in fairyland_

_for fays dance in the brush._

_And causes birds to sing their voices never rushed._

_So babe go on a-sleeping. _

_Babe go on a dreaming._

_And don't you ever cry _

_Listening to the fairy's lullaby."_

Philippe kissed Raoul's sleeping forehead and cried for the first time in years.

**A/n: I wrote the lullaby its called: **_the fairy's lullaby_ **I know... unoriginal.**

**A/n-2: sorry for the wait, out of town for 10 days**


	6. The dagger in heart

**Promises**

**A Phantom of the Opera Story **

**By Don Juan's Red Death**

**_Chapter six_**

**_- - - -_**

Raoul sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, Christine was preforming tonight and god help him he could not bear to go. He did not want to see her, did not want to feel the ripping of his heart at the sound of her voice, knowing all to well that she sang for another. He put his face in his hands and cursed Erik... he hated him... the man had everything that a man could want, the most beautiful woman in Paris at his side. Raoul passed his handkerchief over his brow as he thought of the kiss they had shared in the courtyard. Would she ever kiss him again? Was she kissing Erik right at this moment? Was he sitting with her at his side or with his head resting in her lap as she stroked his hair? Was she singing him to sleep, kissing his face? Were they holding one another as they kissed passionately over and over? Was she sitting in his bed beside him with her head on his bony chest? Did her description of his voice proof true and if it did was she falling asleep in his arms as he sang her a lullaby so she would rest before her performance?

He could not stop himself from asking these questions ever though they tortured his heart more than he could bear. The young Vicomte moaned softly as he recalled that day two years ago when he had told her he loved her and she had sworn on her bible that she would wait for him. She had broken that promise to him, she had not waited for him at all and now she made well to taunt him and shatter his heart. Raoul dropped to his knees, embracing them, weeping for the only woman he had ever really felt affection for and the woman who had spurned him. Sniffling the young aristocrat stood up and wiped the water from his face with a handkerchief and went to dress.

His selection for attire was a forest-green suit complete with black tie, a black shirt with a white neck bonnet and a set of black dress shoes. He came out to find that Philippe was dressed in blue and white to be his opposite and when he touched his shoulder the Comte turned and beamed at him. "Well now my boy, won't you be the talk of the town tonight! Oho I bet your young opera girl is going to wish she was on your arm tonight won't she?" he said with a laugh clapping him on the shoulder. Raoul grinned but inwardly he hated his brother for saying those words, Christine would never be on his arm and he knew it.

At the performance he excused himself from his brother saying he had to go to the lavatory but he ducked down behind the curtain where she was dressing in her bride's gown for Act I. When he touched her shoulder she spun around and took him in from top to bottom before falling solidly into his chest. Despite himself the young man wrapped his arms around her, she looked up at him with her eyes full of love and fear all at the same time. "What are you doing here?" she asked him, leaning against his chest.

Raoul decided to cut to the chase, "Now look here Christine." he said, "Do you love me or don't you?" She appeared confused as though she were thinking it over, "Well?" he asked his voice sharper than he had intended. She nodded and he sighed shaking his head. His arms closed the distance between them and he kissed her deeply, softly. He waited for her to kiss him back, she did not, she pushed herself away and then threw herself at him so that he stumbled slightly and her lips came crashing on his. He mumbled an 'umph' and kissed her back. She pulled away and looked at her blue eyes as he realised her so as she could go to her work.

Christine kissed her fingers to him and he waved back. The lights went down and there she stood amidst the props in all her beauty as she opened her mouth and began to sing. She sang like an angel and Raoul felt his heart bursting with affection. She seemed to glow in the warm gold light of the stage and then a most peculiar thing happened a trap door opened underneath her and a shadow appeared and as quick as he had seen her, she vanished. Raoul opened his mouth and closed it again as though he had just sucked on a very bitter lemon. He tried to go down to the stage, but Philippe stooped him with a hand on his shoulder and he turned and tried to shrug him off.

The older man shook his head, "Raoul there is no point in vexing yourself over her. " he said.

"Damn it! I _love _her!" he snapped at him.

"I know you do little brother but she does not return your sentiment. Come now do not be dense, you must have figured out by now that she is only toying with you and your affections."

"No... she wouldn't do that... no..."

The Comte De Chagny nodded his head and took the younger man by the shoulder, leading him away as he gently mopped his tears. Raoul sobbed all the way home as he thought of what she had said to him behind the stage, no his brother could not be right. He just could not be right.

* * *

Christine shivered as Erik held her close in his horrible skeletal hands, the darkness slid into the cavern and made her skin crawl. She looked into his burning yellow eyes, they were angry, but loving. He released her and raised his hand as if to strike her but instead tried to brush one of her tendrils back from her face. She shrank away. Erik put his hand down and begin to sob pitifully. His sobs turned into screams as he began to pace back and forth.

"Christine hates Erik... Oh woe to poor unhappy Erik! Why must Christine hate Erik? Erik has never hurt Christine! No, no, Erik would never hurt his Christine! OH WOE, WOE WOE!"

She looked at him and felt something twist in her heart, it was not love but it was certainly not hatred. Pity, that's what it was, pity, the sound of his sobs were so weak and painful. The sight of him crawling on his belly before her, moaning like a wounded animal as he dropped to his knees. She reached out and touched him his eyes filled with tears and he bent down kissing her feet, his hand holding the hem of her dress.

"Christine has touched Erik... Christine willingly laid her hands on Erik's horrible body and did not die! She touched Erik and she did not die!" he said in awe.

Christine sighed as she looked at the joyful worship in his eyes and knew that she had to tell him the horrible truth. She knew it would break his heart but she could not live with the pain of hurting the man any longer. He may be a horrible man, a madman and a killer, he may have a face which, she had only seen in her nightmares, but he was still a man. A man who loved her, a man who had given her everything he had to give, a man who had tought her to be the star she was today. A dear friend when she had no one to turn to, her angel of music. She owed him everthing and yet could give him nothing.

"Erik, I do not hate you, but I do not _love _you either. I love Raoul and I am sorry you have to have me cause you so much pain."

Erik let a tear drip from each eye as he heard those words. She had left him because of his face. His Christine would never do such a thing after all he had done for her when she was a child. He had raised that child, taken her under his wing till she was a woman whose voice was as perfect as all the rest of her was. He had made her the ideal picture of the only sort of woman he would ever love. He'd shaped her into the woman she was today. He had made her his Christine.

"Erik I am so sorry to hurt you like this but please try to understand."

The Phantom sobbed as a painful realization hit the furthest cockles of his already aching heart. In that moment when her voice spoke those words he knew that she was not his Christine anymore. She had truly left him, he had given her everything he had to give and still she had left him. For a man with a face far more handsome than he would ever even dream of being and so he had lost her, lost her forever.

"Erik?" she asked timidly as she touched him again.

Erik sneered, the boy was everything he had ever wanted to be, he had everything Erik had always wanted. Above all he had the only woman the Phantom had ever loved. He had Christine.

"Erik understands, Christine loves her young man and pities Erik. Christine is no longer Erik's..." he began to sob.

"No, no, Erik, I do not pity you..." she knew it was a lie but she made herself say it anyways.

"Now Christine lies to Erik! Oh why must Christine lie to Erik! First she does not love him and now she lies to him! Oh woe to little Christine who must hurt her Erik!"

He cried then, cried like the wretch he was. This did not sound like his Christine at all. His Christine was a beautiful angel, a seraph whose love for music was so great that it reflected in her voice. The woman he had loved was the sheer embodiment of perfection. Pure, innocent, sweetly naïve, a newborn angel just fallen out of heaven to grace the world with everything that she was.

"Erik I did not mean---"

She felt that twist in her heart again as she thought of his painful words. Christine felt tears welling in her forget-me-not eyes as she heard him weep. She had hurt him deeply, she had really and truly hurt him and there was nothing she could do to mend the wound, so she just got on her knees and pulled him into a hard hug refusing to let him go till he had finished his cry. She rubbed his back and made shushing sounds as he quieted down into hiccoughs.

"Christine holds Erik? Christine does not hate Erik?"

"No I do not hate you Erik." she said softly.

"Will Christine stay with Erik tonight? Erik wishes to give Christine one more lesson before she goes to be with her young man."

Christine nodded and Erik kissed her feet again before sending her to the music room and writing to letters. One in his handwriting the other in a well-practiced script made to look more formal, in fact it was almost perfect. On the first he placed the Vicomte's address the other he placed his own and drew the Chagny crest, which he had copied when he had seen it last onto the second with the practiced handwriting. The other his trade-mark signature _O.G. _He burned the picture of the crest just to be sure and the one with his own writing.

"Erik has written a note to Christine's young man telling him where she will be tonight." He said weakly upon coming into the room, "Erik has told him he can have Christine back tomorrow morning."

"Thank you Erik." She said.

The two began their lesson and after a few hours he told her to go to bed.

" Your Erik loves you Christine."

Christine offered no reply but gave him a watery smile as she went into her room and shut the door behind her. Erik began to weep when he heard her burst into tears then dropped to his knees. She had plunged a dagger in his heart.


End file.
